Welcome Home
by Cherokee-Lightning
Summary: Jo'Hazaar, a 23 year old caravan guard has found himself in the province of Skyrim once more, even after swearing not to return ever again. His parents assassinated by the Dark Brotherhood...the Civil War raging...a foretold prophecy and a forbidden romance, does this orphaned Khajiit have what it takes to save his homeland? Rated-T for language, and kissing in later chapters.
1. A Simple Delivery

**Hello everyone!, Cherokee here, and I welcome you to my very first fanfiction about the very first game I ever truly enjoyed, Skyrim. But to start you off, here's a little foretaste of what this is all about. A 23 year old Khajiit caravan guard, Jo'Hazaar, has found himself in the province of Skyrim once more, and he never even though he'd be back again. For you see...he was born in Markarth, only until the age of 13 when the Dark Brotherhood targeted his parents for unknowingly ruining a client's ****_reputation_****, and just like that, Jo was whisked away to the homeland of the Khajiit, Elsweyr. After relying on his skills in combat and thievery to cheat, steal, and sell his sword-arm to any willing to pay-up, he found himself a job as a caravan guard. For many years he refused to go back to Skyrim, but with the civil war raging and both sides needing supplies...he had no other choice... **

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Rain...it just had to be rain

Today was the first day the caravan would be delivering supplies to a Stormcloak camp in Falkreath, and the Divines just decided to let the storms loose. Naturally Khajiit don't like rain, I mean, they're cats after all, but with Jo'Hazaar it was another story altogether. The caravan stomped onward on the path, mud squishing beneath their feet and fur soaked, it was even worse for the guards considering the 90 pounds of steel armor...food...and weaponry they were hauling. Finally, the trail split in the opposite direction, a little deeper into the thick forest. A small opening appeared at the end of the dirt path, revealing the little Stormcloak camp alight with activity, soldiers sharpening weapons and blacksmiths forging the very weapons they were sharpening. "Hazaar!" A scratchy voice bellowed from the entrance to the camp, making the Khajiit's ears perk up in curiosity. Standing in-front of the caravan was Commander Thorygg Sun-Killer, a close, yet distant friend of Jo.

The pair came together, patting each-other's backs and laughing like they always did. "Thorygg!...it is this one's pleasure to greet you once again." Thorygg chuckled deeply, waving off Jo's greeting. "The pleasure is mine friend, without you these medical supplies wouldn't have made it here, it's going to save a lot of lives." Thorygg kept a careful eye on the rest of the crew as they unloaded chests of potions and salves to treat the wounded, crates of bandages and weaponry. _The amount of things they need makes it look like they're losing the war... _Jo thought to himself, also catching a quick glance at the surplus of supplies being unloaded. "You owe me Thorygg...bandits camped outside of Haemar's Shame almost put a dagger through my heart, the Helgen town guard had to intervene before things got ugly." The commander only crossed his arms, giving a amused glare before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a small purse of septims. "Consider this a personal 'gift' for your troubles." He tossed him to the Khajiit, who snatched it out of the air with his naturally quick reflexes. "So, Hazaar has heard much of the civil war, tell me, how goes it?" Thorygg frowned, pointing to the far end of the camp where a tent was packed with wounded Stormcloaks. "Imperials managed to push us out of the Reach, lost our foothold in the area, along with a strategic advantage that granted us access to Solitude's supply route."

Jo looked over Thorygg's shoulder, examining the swarm of wounded and their fellow soldiers tending to them as best as possible. "War is a cruel thing, many fight until their last man, Tullius is a coward...in time he will surrender." He gave his friend one last pat on the back before assisting the rest of the caravan with unloading the cargo, what was left mostly contained salts and meats...some mead here and there, just enough to ration out until reinforcements came from Windhelm. _A foolish...yet honorable war this is, what, I wonder, is stopping them from coming to an agreement? _It wasn't until the carriages were empty and the rest were ready to leave for Elsweyr once again, that something strange caught the attention of both the caravan and most of the Stormcloaks in the camp. It had gotten eerily silent...not a single bird chirped and the whipping wind of the storm died down.

And a black figure soared overhead, wing-beats like an earthquake, and sent a shadow over the camp...


	2. Believing the Un-Believable

**To clear up confusion before it even happens, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak is a WOMAN in this fanfic, just for the sake of the story. Expect to see either the Dawn-Guard or Dragon-Born DLC story-line in the future, PM me or drop a comment in your review on which one I should do!**

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It all happened so fast Jo didn't have time to react, a jet black dragon came thundering overhead, sending plumes of scorching fire into the tall forest trees. The soldiers scrambled, screaming random comments like "Dear Talos!" and "It's a dragon! before being vaporized or carried off into the sky when the beast dived in. "Hazaar!" A startled voice thundered from behind the treeline, Thorygg was gathering a small squad in a feeble attempt to escape the slaughter. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" Jo's feet kicked up mud and water in a mad dash for safety, when something closed around his waist. "No!" Thorygg drew his battleaxe, charging in with all his might to save the Khajiit that now dangled from the dragon's claws, slowly climbing higher and higher into the sky. _**"Meyus Kaaz, hin sahlag togaat wah iliis lost proved zonuft ko hin poltor, nu dir, ahrk Zu'u fent du hin sil!"**_The dragon's voice bellowed, and it released the Khajiit from it's icy grip, sending Jo plummeting head-long toward the ground below. The wind felt like razors against his skin, unable to see where he was about to most likely die.

**_*SPLOOOOOOOOOOOOM*_**

Jo'Hazaar finally came-to, the sun was beginning to shine between the dissipating storm clouds, which meant he'd must have been out for hours. He hissed at the realization that the steel chest-plate of his armor had been dented like a tin can, soaked in and out, and a fine layer of mud and sand was caked inside his boots. Then it hit him...the dragon must have dropped him into the lake just west of Falkreath, the water breaking most of the fall but probably breaking a rib or two along with it. Jo slowly climbed to his feet, nostrils filled with the scent of smoke and a touch of burning flesh...off in the distance a column of fire erupted toward the sky, a shadowy dark figure circling above. _A dragon...it couldn't be...they've been gone for thousands of years... _Quickly his train of thought went toward the Stormcloak camp, had anyone made it?...was Thorygg safe?

But soon enough Jo figured that sitting there and doing nothing would not assist these poor souls in any way, so in a quick attempt to get on the road and spread the word of the dragon, he grabbed his steel mace and drained his boots, dashing for the nearest path. It was normal in Falkreath for the paths to be so empty, but something was seriously off. Not a single animal dare move from their dens or nests, all fell silent in the presence of the mighty dragon. At this point Jo was beginning to ponder if those bandits really had gotten him, bashed his head and dumped him in the lake. Maybe that is what happened, cast aside like the outcast he's always been and left to die, and just dreamed up the rest. But apparently that wasn't so, the sounds of thunderous roars and the stench of burning flesh got louder and thicker with each step taken.

It took hours, at least until nightfall, before Jo finally reached the source of the mayhem. A tattered Imperial flag hung crooked from a burned pole, smoke rolled off the town while the remaining fires burned out, it was already obvious that very few, possibly none, had made it out of the attack. The town gate had been blown down, letting Jo wander in. The familiar sights, or what was left of them, finally made him remember this old place. He used to come here as a child, played with a local nord boy, what was his name?, Oh yes...Torlof, they used to play tag and explore the forests. And there was that one woman, a older woman who always made her special mead with juniper berries mixed in when the pair had gotten old enough to drink it. But a single thing caught his eye...a list clutched in the lifeless arms of a charred corpse, as it would appear an execution was taking place beforehand. With a careful tug, Jo pulled the list from the body's grasp, peering down the names with curiosity. _Lokir of Rorikstead, Ralof of Riverwood, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak..wait a minute..._

Ulfric Stormcloak had been captured

And scheduled for execution in Helgen

By the gods...Helgen is gone...


	3. The Long Road Ahead

This smoldering, bulldozed ruin was his favorite place in Skyrim other than his birth-town of Markarth...and it was gone.

Jo only knelt down, trying to comprehend the fact that everyone was dead for sure, but what of the prisoners? Only one body lay decapitated next to the stone...which left countless numbers of war prisoners and _actual_ criminals unaccounted for. With any luck Ulfric had made it out, she's the leader of the rebellion for Divine's sake, without her the entire civil war might as well be trashed and a red carpet set for the Imperials to come strolling in without worry. No...maybe there was a way to fix this, the closest town from here would be Riverwood, as Jo remembered, there was Stormcloak families there, maybe they could point him in the direction to spread the word of the dragon? But the problem going somewhere, was the actual part about 'getting there'. Another hour and a half on foot?, he'd be killed by a wild animal with the lack of strength he had. Jo decided if things got bad...he could try to climb up a tree, using his claws. But there was no time for that, the best he could do was find a cave with the softest dirt and lay on it. "There is nothing left here...I might as well leave." It was a long walk before a proper cave was found, seeing as the last 4 were taken by some sort of wolf or spider. Jo threw his mace on the ground, all but collapsing onto his side and letting out a confused sigh. At least now, he could think for a change.

_Dragons?...that wasn't on the agenda...they were wiped out a long time ago by the ancient nords during the Dragon War! But that thing, it was like no dragon I've heard tales about, certainly this was different somehow. It picked me up...spoke to me...in the dragon tounge, what did it say though? I picked out the words 'Fool' and 'Hiding', or at-least something like that. So apparently that dragon is back somehow, possibly with others, and seemed to hate me the most out of everyone at the camp, just perfect, first time in Skyrim for over 10 years and this is the 'Welcome Home' I GET? GODS! Then there's the fact that ULFRIC STORMCLOAK, THE LEADER OF THE REBELLION, MAY OR MAY NOT BE FRIED TO A CRISP! Just...why me?...why not some other poor sod guarding that caravan? I need to get too Riverwood, first thing tommorow, something needs to be done about that dragon._

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**The Next Day...**

A sliver of sunlight shone in through the opening of the cave, the crisp morning air bit at Jo's skin like it always had. The birds finally decided to come out from hiding, chirping their high-pitched tunes to one another. It would seem like the mighty beast had fled or took shelter from the storm high in the mountains, in the nordic ruins perhaps? Small puddles of muddy water had seeped into the cave during the night, once again soaking Jo's feet. It was time to make the trek to Riverwood. The weather had cleared up quite a bit since the day before, the storm clouds replaced by blue sky and sunlight, perfect travelling weather. His steel mace in hand, the young Khajiit gazed at the path ahead, putting the destruction of Helgen behind him. And so the journey began.

The Journey, that would change his life forever.


	4. The First Steps

**A/N: Hello again people of Fanfiction!, Cherokee here with a new installment of 'Welcome Home', as many may have noticed I don't exactly stick to the original wording of each character in the quests, though I will if I feel like it. The only reason I do this is because A:) I want to provide a new experience for readers, and B:) It just gets annoying having to look up every little line the character says. But enough blabbering, enjoy the story!**

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_ Chapter 4: The First Steps_

_Jo'Hazaar, a simple caravan guard, has just been caught in the midst of a dragon attack. Yeah...you might say 'Well, dragons vanished thousands of years ago!' Well let me stop you there, The Falkreath Stormcloak camp was just ambushed and the town of Helgen replaced with a steaming pile of rubble. Riverwood is only a mile or two away, and he has his mind set on getting there._

Riverwood came into view at the end of the path, it's mill churning up the water and sawing logs. Everybody gasped as Jo stumbled through the front entrance, clothing torn, armor dented, and fur smeared with mud. One of the mill-workers caught him before he collapsed into the ground, asking for the help of a few others to lift the Khajiit up. It was all a blur from that point, the clamor of people and the sensation of his armor being removed. It was when he awoke that things finally came into view. Jo was lying in a comfortable bed, covered in a pile of fur blankets and washed clean. The townspeople must have taken him in here after what had happened, seeing how it wouldn't exactly be polite to let someone die in the middle of your town. Not much happened, a few people came in to set down food or refill the flagon with cold mead, when Jo tried to sit up he was ordered too lay back down and get some sleep.

For a week it went on like this, isolated in a room with nothing to do but sleep or stare out of the small holes in the wall, until one day a particular man entered the room. He was adorned in the outfit of a Stormcloak General, heavy fur boots making a thud with each step taken. "Jo?...that you buddy?" A familiar voice asked, shaking his arm. "You okay?" Jo rolled over, nodding groggily. "Thorygg?...you survived the attack?" Thorygg-Sun Killer, mighty leader of the Stormcloaks in Falkreath, had miraculously survived the dragon onslaught. "Thorygg you have to help...they won't let me leave, I've done nothing but lay here all week." He chuckled, kneeling down to Jo's level and shaking his head. "You broke 3 ribs and could hardly stand from dehydration, I think they did you a favor." The General walked across the room, examining a box of potions and salves stacked in a box. One by one he picked out a few of them, pouring them into each other and taking care too do it correctly.

"Here...they said if you drink this you should be able to go." Thorygg handed him a vial of blue liquid that smelled of honey and rotting skeever. Jo didn't know whether to inhale or vomit, but nonetheless he took the vial between his fingers and swigged it down. "By the way," The Khajiit asked. "Where exactly will I be _going?" _Thorygg put a hand to his chin, giving a look of slight disgust before finally coming to a decision. "Jarl Balgruuf...if the dragons are back he'll need too know, there are towns like Riverwood that don't have any walls, they'll need defending."

Jo silently agreed...with no men and no wall they would be sitting ducks for an angry dragon. "Thorygg, do you by any chance know where all my things went?" He gestured down the hall. "The local blacksmith fixed it up for you, exchanged your iron mace for a Steel sword, his little parting gift or something." Thorygg went to the door, turning around to give Jo one last heads up. "I'll be waiting for you outside, your in no condition to make the trip alone." Jo stood up after he left, walking to the door slowly, gazing down the hall. A single thing caught his eye, down the hall a door was propped open, an older Khajiit sat in a wooden chair, arm propped up on a table. Next to him was a long silver staff, at the end was what looked like a dragon claw, made of diamond. But something was off about the man, his claws were surgically removed and replaced with huge sharpened rubies in the shape of the claws of the staff...and looked like they could cut a saber-cat in half with one swipe. The mysterious khajiit looked out of the room, locking eyes with Jo and slamming the door. Whatever was going on in there it looked like he was talking to someone. Jo shook it off as nothing and made his way out of the inn, approaching the blacksmith.

"What can I do you for?" The blacksmith asked very politely, pounding away at a hunk of steel on an anvil. Jo gestured to the set of steel armor behind the man. "Came here to pick up my things." The blacksmith nodded, picking up the set of armor and setting it down on the workbench. "I'm Alvor, you must be Jo'Hazaar, Thorygg mentioned you." Alvor turned again and pulled out a shining new steel sword. "Take it...I figured you'll need it, seeing how that mace was trashed." Jo thanked the blacksmith and found Thorygg waiting at the city gate. "Ready to leave Hazaar?...It's a few hours from Whiterun."

Jo nodded, pointing to the path ahead. "Let's get going."


	5. Strangers and Honeyed Words

**I forgot to mention that in this chapter a certain someone will be making a cameo to foreshadow events ahead, and that certain someone adores CHEESE!**

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Jo walked beside Thorygg the entire time, leaning against his long-time friend if a pain set in or just having a long talk with him. On multiple occasions he tried to bring up the khajiit's parents, but it quickly fizzled out. With Riverwood far behind and Whiterun dawning over the hill, there was no stopping now. "Thorygg," Jo asked solemnly. "Did you ever hear about my parents?" The general was taken back a bit, seeing how his attempts at the subject had died and now he was openly speaking about it. "Yeah...Ra'Bar and Aziahni, political ambassadors for the Jarl of Markarth." Jo nodded to confirm what he had just said, and replied in a quiet tone. "I was in town that night, they were found dead in the Silver-Blood Inn, they were torn up like some wild animal attacked them, barely found enough to bury." He shrugged. "Some hinted at a werewolf being the culprit, most guessed it was a freak accident or Dark Brotherhood assassination, but I was to busy mourning to care."

Thorygg felt a pang of guilt for his friend, for not talking about this sooner. The death of his parents sent shock and outrage through Skyrim's political parties, a call for investigation and extra protection for those still operating in the hold. "But if I find who did it today...you can guarantee their mangled corpse is being thrown off a cliff somewhere." He scanned the river's shore for dangers, the flames of fury still flickering in his gaze. "Jo, you need to let it go, chances are we'll never actually find who did it, it's best to just move on and forget about it." Thorygg tried his best to calm him down...but nothing could staunch his anger but the death of the killer.

It was then the strangest thing happened, an older man with a walking stick and dressed in the most lavish silk suit Jo had ever seen, strolled by. The man stopped, halting Jo in his tracks with his walking stick and stepping in-front of him. "Well, Mr. Cat, what a lovely day for a stroll...care for some cheese?" Jo tightened his grip on his steel sword, slightly backing away. "Now now, no need to get your tail in a knot, I'll just be on my way." The man went back on his merry path, humming a macabre funeral tune and chuckling uncontrollably between notes. Thorygg looked over his shoulder, giving the man a stink-eye. "Skyrim gets weirder by the day." The pair continued on, stopping suddenly when the mysterious man called out once more. "Be seeing you cat!...In due time." They both turned, but it was too late, the man was gone. "Permission to skewer him on this sword if he comes back?" Thorygg asked Jo.

"Gladly do so...people like that give me the chills." And for so long...it was silent, barely a word or breath shared between the long-time friends, they didn't even bother making eye contact. "Look!, up ahead!" Jo pointed to the side of the path. They had finally arrived at Whiterun. A tall nord wearing guard's armor patrolled with a group of others along the path's edge, halting Jo and Thorygg immediately. "Stop...no one's allowed in the city, with the dragons about."

Jo winked at Thorygg, stepping forward and letting his natural silver-tongue do it's work. "Well, it seems we're at an impasse, how about...200 septims, and we can keep this private." The guard looked uneasily at his friends, and quickly snapped back to the khajiit. "Fine, but this conversation never happened." Jo flicked a pouch of septims at the guard and nodded. "Never even heard of you..." He gestured to Thorygg and kept one eye over his shoulder too make sure the guard didn't change his mind. "Oh Jo, can always count on you for your honeyed words." The khajiit laughed. "And I can always count on you to crush some skulls."

And so the city of Whiterun grew ever closer.


End file.
